6.
Glossary: copium. A self-prescribed drug one consumes when one's team loses. The name is derived from the words 'cope' and 'opium'. Pointing out excessive copium use in other fanbases is one of the more rewarding pastimes of the modern sports fan. "Yes we lost four-nil but look at the underlying metrics and you'll see we had more possession, more xG, more field tilt, and more expected threat." "The amount of copium in here is astounding."
***
Monday November 4
@zero_sumo_games
Thought about it and offering a replay was the last straw for me. Something big like that you've got to talk to us (board or fans, take your pick). I got a hundo angry DMs and I never had anything to do with it!!! I'll quit the board this week. Someone else can deal with all that noise.
@barnes_the_noble
Don't be too hasty, Sumo. You are a valued member of the board and I know Max thinks highly of you. Let's get together and hash it out.
@zero_sumo_games
I'm done with him. I joined the board to help my club not to do damage control on his latest stunt.
@barnes_the_noble
I do understand. I also had a high volume of calls and let's just say the timing was not good. Let's take this out of the public eye, though. Remember we talked about collective responsibility?
@zero_sumo_games
ok
***
[Epic theme music plays, interspersed with commentary of memorable moments from Boggy and the BBC]
J: Yes! Welcome to Deva Station, I'm your host, J.
Smakk: And I'm your other host, Smakk.
J: We're the number one unofficial Chester FC podcast and today is going to be spicy. [Sound effect: sizzling chilies and someone going 'hot hot hot' with their mouth full.] Get ready for the hot takes! In the studio today is a special guest - very special guest - a rising star in the Chester fanbase... Ray Hart.
Ray: [Deep, calming voice.] Hello hello.
Smakk: Oh, he's started already.
J: That voice!
Smakk: J promised a feisty, passionate episode but Ray's got that voice.
J: For the three of you who don't know Ray, he sent a voice note question for one of our Patreon episodes and listeners said we should get him on the main pods. Ray, it's fair to say you've made a big impression on people in a short time!
Ray: Thank you, that's kind. I just tell it like I see it and if people like it, that's flattering.
J: Your voice is crazy deep, though. I used some of the Patreon money to get an expert in sound levels to tell me how to mix it and it should sound proper good today. Shoutout to all the Patrons - your support means we get to do what we love and that's talk about Chester.
Smakk: Yeah, and sorry for getting sick just after our mini-break.
J: To be fair, we put out two pretty long episodes while we were away. If we hadn't told them we were going, they'd barely have noticed.
Smakk: We promised custom artwork but didn't do it.
J: We agreed the episodes were better without the art.
Smakk: That's true.
J: Listeners, I think you can tell from the rambling conversation that we're procrastinating. None of us wants to get into the hot topic of the day, especially Ray.
Ray: That's right. I prefer to focus on the football.
J: It's odd you wanted to come on this episode, to be honest. You've got an open invitation and you asked to do it today.
Ray: You're going to talk about the replay incident, I take it? I'll let you do that and bring up my talking points later.
Smakk: Come on, J, enough pussyfooting around. There's only one topic in Chester. Let's break it down.
J: Okay. Sequence of events. Saturday was the FA Cup First Round against Swindon. We win, Max does an interview. We'll come back to that. Sunday the women play against Cheadle Town Stingers. We're told they're our main rivals in that division so if we can get a result there, the season's looking rosy.
Smakk: For context, there are only twelve teams in a league, only one promotion spot, and one defeat can wreck you.
J: That's right. Then this evening there was the FA Youth Cup. The lads were at home to Northampton Town of League One. Tough test. No shame in losing, right? But this is what's infuriating - we're not going to talk about any of the football. Because at the end of the Swindon match - that we won, remember - Max Best offered them a replay and broke the internet.
Smakk: His mate from the Daily Mail was there and she got it on Mail Online pretty fast. It went semi-viral but then something happened to make it go supernova. Slow news day maybe but it just took off.
Ray: Harry Styles retweeted it.
J: Oh, did he? That explains a lot. BoshCard must have a quick-thinking marketing person because they were on the case pdq - they offered to pay for buses to ferry as many Chester fans to Swindon as bought tickets. Glendale Logistics said they'd help out even if it meant driving fans in diggers. There were, what, thirty other First Round matches? and every winning manager gets asked about it, every losing manager gets asked about it, it's the main topic on talkSPORT, people are nominating Max Best for a sportsmanship award, I mean, it got traction.
Smakk: But while the country is going wow this kid put the FA's feet to the flames on national television, Chester fans are melting down. If we go to Swindon for a replay we'll lose and we'll be out of the cup. We were in the Second Round and now this brat's taken our name out of the hat and chucked it in the bin!
J: Right. We need the prize money and we're one win away from the Third Round where we might get Liverpool away and earn a million quid. It makes zero sense to offer a replay.
Smakk: Zero. It's bonkers. So that's the background and now we have to untangle it. So, J, be honest, how did you feel when you heard? Oh, and where were you?
J: I think that's part of the problem. I was in the concourse throwing beer around like a normal fan after a big cupset and life was just about as good as it gets. Like, the performance was up and down but the lads fought hard and I've never, ever, been more confident about a penalty shoot-out.
Ray: It helps to have a Frenchman and a German on your team.
J: That's where England have been going wrong in major tournaments! But yeah, I was so high, then everyone's phone pops off and I look at mine and it really is Christ, what's he done now, you know? And... yeah. This one wasn't funny. It's not, like, terminal or anything. I won't be changing my usernames or throwing my season ticket at the lad but it was such a kick to the nuts. Like, where do you get off doing that to us? At least let us fucking enjoy the moment. And ask us before you make the offer. Ask someone. You could tell he hadn't told anyone because of the look on Sandra Lane's face. Tell you what, that's my answer. I felt the way she looked.
Smakk: I'm pretty similar.
Ray: I'm gonna interject, just briefly, because you know I've got a few little birdies at the club who tell me things. I've heard that the manager told everyone he was going to run his mouth off and he was therefore surprised when he went to the dressing room and found them up in arms and ready to mutiny. And to me, the only really interesting part of this fallout is when it comes to the players and their ongoing relationship with the manager and the club.
J: Wait, he told the players he was going to do this?
Ray: It's what I've heard. He told them at the start of the week and again before the match. My contact says no-one was really listening and thus when they expressed their annoyance at the manager, he gave it back to them with interest. Let's say that words were exchanged and the players were outnumbered one to twenty. It will be interesting to see how that dynamic plays out because if your boss tells you he's going to do something and he does it and you lose trust in him something has gone wrong with your process. Do you see what I mean? I'll be very interested to see how that develops and how the messaging on it changes.
Smakk: Ray, you're so interesting. I know you don't like talking about the controversies but I'd love to hear your thoughts on this one. Just if you want. But please. Pretty please. Cherry on top.
[pause]
Ray: I'll tell you why I wanted to be on this episode.
J: Go on.
Ray: Last night I put my girls to sleep as usual and as I was closing the bedroom door I had a moment of pure tranquillity. My body was warm from inside to out and I took a few steps back into the room to see their faces. They were tucked in under their blankets on their soft pillows in their warm room and I felt proud that I'd done that. I'd done the basics of being a father and provided food and shelter and love. This warmth I was feeling was hard to understand but it was excitement. My girls got into football in a big way during the Women's World Cup which means they're the perfect age to enjoy what's coming.
J: What's coming?
Ray: More of the same, I hope, because this weekend was the peak of football in this city, ever, no exceptions.
J: The peak?
Ray: The men's team beat a higher-level opponent, again, and did it in a way that sometimes had me chuckling to myself. You know I like to watch football from the POV of a coach and I like to look at the details and ideally that's all we would talk about today because believe me, I have thoughts. But the tactics and the in-match tweaks are fascinating. Some of what we do is incredible. Almost beyond belief. Any team can plan big changes like the switch from long-ball to the double pivot but they can't have every little tweak mapped out and there are sometimes so many in a Chester match that it's hard to tell what's a tweak and what's a positional mistake.
Analysing the matches from any sort of tactical perspective is like picking a lock that's higher than your skill level; it requires ample time and a video tutorial. I would love to sit down with the manager one day and discuss his changes but I fear it would be content that only a few of your most engaged Patrons would be interested in.
Smakk: The peak, though? We had good days in the past. We took Leeds to a replay.
Ray: I sidetracked myself. The Swindon match was interesting in lots of ways but the result was the main thing. Through to the next round and thanks to our manager, plucky underdogs Chester are one of the biggest stories in the country. Our sponsors are more than getting their money's worth, I think we can all agree. Did the manager risk the prize money? He did not, but even if the FA allowed us to change their rules of their competition, the publicity was immense. We will get more sponsorship money for years as a result of what our manager did on Saturday.
But I don't particularly care about that. When I look in the eyes of my children I don't feel joy that they're growing up in a world where Boshcard's marketing spend is outperforming its key metrics. I care that the manager keeps his word and one of his promises is to develop players. Not just Youngster getting a chance to train with the Ghanaian under 20s - how amazing is that, by the way? - but the older ones, too. I see Carl Carlile and he's unrecognisable from the lost soul who played under Ian Evans. The goalkeeper's got a bit of arrogance about him, now, which you want in your number one. James Wise is turning into Sam Topps before our very eyes. We know the manager loves Magnus Evergreen and we've quietly tolerated it because he's a player who does his job and doesn't make many mistakes. In the last few games, though, he's shown moves that make the eyes pop. I'm watching him thinking, hello! We haven't seen that before. He hasn't felt safe to try that in a contest. A contest, do you feel me? These players are being coached. Not your hill runs and your heading practice. They're being coached and so are the women.
The men win. The women have their big game and it's frantic for ten minutes, but then Charlotte puts her foot on the ball and Cheadle don't get it back for the rest of the half. The director of football says Cheadle are the big rivals and he's normally right on the money and the league table agrees with him. But our girls said, you know what? We're not giving anyone a sniff in this league. We're going to put Cheadle down and win five out of five and we're not going to concede a goal because we don't do that any more. Our director of football has brought in upgrades, you see. And I like that, too. Players have ceilings and when they hit that ceiling the replacement is knocking on the door. I love those squad building episodes you do, by the way. The women have a new goalie and defence, the midfield is strong, the strikers score freely. Who's next to be upgraded? It's not simple and it could be that some of our favourites get eased out.
So what do you have when you have a leader who has the patience and vision to push players to improve combined with the ruthlessness to replace them when they hit their ceiling? You have fast, consistent progression. My daughters are going to see the men's team in the football league and the women's team, I don't even know what the limits are. And then there's the youth team and I have to tell you something, the three of us enjoyed the match this evening but you boys were surprised at the result. I wasn't. I knew we would win when I saw Roberts at left midfield again. But even I didn't know how impressive the win would be.
J: It was only three-one.
Ray: Scorelines matter but what I saw today confirmed a lot of things I suspected. I'll give you an example. It's not just the players who are improving - the manager is, too. He has been incredibly rigid with his formations in a way that worried some of the coaching staff. Not so much the players - they only care about their minutes - but it was striking that the manager would stick so slavishly to his defaults even while complaining his options were so limited. Sticking to a back four when playing against ten men, for example. He was able to deflect all those discussions because he was winning most of the time but this is one of the things I find so compelling about him. Even when he's stubbornly refusing to do something he is actually listening and given enough time might decide that, yes, actually, that's a good idea. I have heard several stories that fit the pattern of this theory and on Saturday we had the long throw bombardment.
Smakk: That was mint!
Ray: We know he hates long throws and personally I agree with him but he's flexible enough to use it, isn't he? Josh Owens has been told he can do one long throw per match, now.
J: One?
Ray: The way it will work, and this is just speculation based on my observations of the manager, is that Owens will dry the ball on a special towel while the centre backs lumber forward. As the oppo are steeling themselves for the long throw, Owens will throw it short and play will continue but with their penalty box loaded with our biggest players. On the third throw the oppo will relax. On the fourth, he will hurl it into the mixer. That's how I think it will go. It will be like driving over potholes and bracing yourself for impacts that don't come - and then when you're not ready, there's a big one.
Smakk: That sounds annoying. For the oppo. Could be funny for us.
Ray: I want a manager who uses the whole of the animal, if you see what I mean. Don't waste parts you don't like the look of. Use everything. That's the manager we've got and that's a force multiplier on our spending. I've got sidetracked again. I wish we could talk about football and not things that don't matter.
J: Sorry, Ray, but it does matter. He doesn't own the club; he can't do anything he wants. There have to be some limits.
Ray: He can make the offer of a replay knowing it will never happen. It can't happen. As the FA handbook is written, it literally can't happen. Our name was in the hat for the next round. Our name was pulled out and the fixture was announced. We will play Yeovil in the next round and that's set in stone. But I don't want to talk about that. I was talking about the FA Youth Cup and the manager's personal growth. I thought I saw some evidence of this on Saturday and today was even clearer. For listeners who don't know the youth team, they have some good players, especially in midfield and up front, but there isn't a quality right back. Today we had a right winger there, same as in the previous round, but he was playing more as a wing back and he looked much more comfortable further up the pitch. Not only that, the players on his side were closer to him, while the left back was pushed farther away.
J: What's the purpose of that?
Ray: To make the pitch wide. The ball can run faster than you. If you're chasing it across the pitch time and again you're going to get fatigued and you're going to make mistakes. It's a small tweak but it's new for this Chester team; I've been crying out for it for a long time. It's one of those famous one percent improvements. Later there was a ten or fifteen minute experiment where the player I mentioned moved to be a more classic right back while Roberts, playing left mid again, pushed to be a left-sided CAM.
Smakk: Why do you think him playing left mid shows we're going to win?
Ray: Because if it was likely to be a close match, the manager would use him in the centre. He's our best player by far. But we're talking about this new level of positional play. Clearly the manager is only comfortable changing one variable at a time but he's learning the game, same as we all are. There are still people questioning why he wants to manage the youth teams and this is why. He's learning. He's doing experiments. And he's knocking bigger teams out of tournaments along the way. Northampton were absolutely stunned at half time. Did you see them? They only came into the game when we made changes and brought on some of the lesser talents. At the final whistle I had another one of those funny turns as my clan applauded. Our boys didn't celebrate much but gathered around the manager and I said to my girls, 'They look like you when you've broken something in the kitchen.' The manager was forceful in what he said to those boys but they accepted it and walked through to the dressing room nice and calm, discussing whatever the issue was.
J: Do you know what he was upset about?
Ray: No. If I had to guess I'd say it was the speed of the passing. We had too many players feeling themselves. Getting on the ball and feeling so comfortable they didn't want to move it on. Which is not ideal but it's a sign of how good we are. We have a team of young men who are learning the game and learning how to have a career and whilst most of them have won a grand total of two FA Youth Cup matches, they already look like old hands and a win against a League One team is par for the course. Do you see? My daughters saw three wins in three days and the way we play and the way we find and coach talent, there will be more wins. I look into our future and I see years of wins.
Smakk: How can you speak so calmly and yet get me so hyped up?
Ray: That's why I wanted to come on the show. People listen to this podcast. This podcast can set the agenda. You decide what topics people focus on. Why even look at something that doesn't affect us when there's so much that is positive?
J: It does affect us, though. We could have lost our spot in the cup.
[pause]
Ray: When I asked my girlfriend to marry me, she said yes, but she knew I had a lot of self-doubt about staying faithful. I wasn't sure I had it in me. So she said if I ever met Halle Berry, I was allowed to, well, if I ever met her nothing that happened would affect my faithfulness score. Great offer. Two problems. [laughter] Our manager did the same thing. It wasn't a serious offer and it's only because the Daily Mail ran it so hard that anyone took it seriously. Now, to be completely honest, I was annoyed when I read what he had said because like all fans I was already hoping for an easy fixture in the Second Round and dreaming of the Third Round. That's what we do as fans, isn't it? We count our chickens.
But it didn't take long to rethink. Our manager is not stupid and if he's dropping hand grenades on his sport's governing body, it's more than a whim. Funny how our principles melt away when there's forty thousand pounds on the line. It's not a lot, is it? When six clubs tried to form the European Super League and leave the rest of us behind, we were outraged and engaged. They wanted to kill us and we got mobilised. Yes? Think back. How could they play in a Super League when they already had so many matches to play? Easy. Kill FA Cup replays. That project was killed three years ago and now the European Super League is dead, so we're told. But excuse me, ladies and gentleman, it's your friendly neighbourhood Football Association here. We need to kill the FA Cup not to prepare the way for a Super League but for totally unrelated reasons. La la la la laa.
It was six months ago when they announced it and there was talk of boycotts and all sorts of things but nothing concrete. They thought they got away with it. One piece of the jigsaw is in place. One more brick in the foundation of the Super League. Our heads are on the chopping block and we don't even notice. [Clears throat.] Our manager noticed, lads. The FA must have expected a few mean tweets about no replays, but what they got was the media equivalent of the whole of Special Branch doing a dawn raid. Today I saw politicians talking about creating an independent regulator. Stunts like this one make them realise how popular it would be to take control of the sport back from the elites. Do you see? The next diabolical change the FA tries to make might be its last. Our manager is fighting the battle we all stopped fighting.
[pause]
Smakk: I want you to hit me as hard as you can.
[laughter]
J: For real, though, why do I feel so good? Ray always brings the best copium.
Ray: It's only copium when you're losing. When I tuck my daughters into bed tomorrow night, in their room covered with Chester FC merchandise, I'm going to feel like a winner.
***
Saturday, November 9
Best Takes Team to Fylde Festival!
Chester's unbeaten run extended to eight matches with a comprehensive 4-0 win over AFC Fylde at the Deva stadium. Henri Lyons dominated his markers, opening the scoring and bringing Chester's considerable attacking talent into the game. Pascal Bochum, Ziggy, and Max Best himself also netted, while there was another appearance for promising youngster William B. Roberts, star of the youth team's cup run.
***
Saturday, November 16
Forest Green Win Battle of Tofu-Eating Wokerati
It was vegan hotdogs all round as Chester FC visited eco-club Forest Green Rovers today, but in amongst the tie-dying workshops, crystal reattunement, and lectures on intersectionality there was the unpleasant and unwelcome matter of a football match. FGR won it 1-0 and moved back into the playoff spots while the home fans sang a musical number about the virtues of hemp. Chester slumped back to ninth in the league and with nearly half the season gone, activist manager Marx Best looks short of ideas on how to improve the situation.
***
Sunday, November 17
Match 6 of 22: West Didsbury and Chorlton Women vs Chester Women
The match that had caused me so many problems had finally arrived, and it was going to prove even more consequential than anyone could ever have guessed.
The aim of the day was to beat West, obviously, but also to showcase Chester to five fifteen-year-old Welsh girls I'd spotted, all of whom were over PA 100. Those signings would be valuable in their own right, but would also convince other Welsh parents that I was serious about developing Welsh talent. The next Gareth Bale was at a small club and hadn't been spotted yet - I would jump through almost any number of hoops to secure his signing.
Emma and I met the five girls and their families outside the Deva stadium. I tried to be charming. Ems, obvs, didn't have to try. We were supported by MD, Brooke, Ruth, the Brig, and Ryan Jack. Just a fucking unbelievable team that covered so many bases.
It became clear to me that my big plan to win the girls over was unnecessary. When I asked if they wanted to travel to Manchester on the bus with the actual first team, it was Christmas come early. They had been doing their research and knew all about Femi and Bonnie and Angel. They knew about the documentary and the solar panels and the dentists. They knew about me, too, and the fact I was gunning for them so hard was, well, a point in my favour. There was zero chance those five girls would snub us after today.
The focus quickly switched to the parents. Convincing them to schlep their daughters up to Chester three or four times a week was not going to be simple, I knew that. So I had a plan. A harmless bit of social engineering.
We had hired a couple of minivans that the parents would squeeze into and they would be whisked to Manchester while Ryan, Brooke and the others got to know them. By the time they arrived at West, I would know which topics they most cared about and I'd know what they were afraid of when it came to me. If they worried I was too handsome and dashing, I would allow myself to be boring and do unattractive things like use nouns as verbs. If they thought I was too prone to anger, I would be a zen master.
I announced that I would catch up with them in the Executive Box at West Didsbury and Chorlton, but that first I had to drive Emma to The Big Vape (i.e. Manchester City Centre) where she wanted to do some shopping.
"And to see your mum," said Emma, weirdly loud.
"Well, yeah. I always pop in when I'm back home."
"They don't know that," said Emma, jerking her head at the parents. So strange.
"Oh, I won't be late," I said, to the parents, in case that was the issue. "It's not far from the stadium, anyway."
"The care home, he means." Again, loud.
I opened my mouth, excited to tell the parents that they could meet Solly, the psychic dog, but I decided to wait before mentioning that particular nugget. "Great, that's settled then," I said, which I'm not sure came across as completely rational.
***
Brooke: They think you might be too excitable and not serious. Bit too cocky and not interested enough in the rules.
Ryan: I'm getting similar. You might be a bad influence. They don't trust you.
Me: Christ. They sound like they're in that Best Out Facebook group.
Brooke: It'll be fine. This is why they're meeting you. Try to hit topics parents care about. Safety. Education. Facilities. Mental health and happiness. They're incredibly interested in your social programs. That side of you scores BIG with this demo.
Me: What about money?
Ruth: It hasn't come up. How good are these girls?
Me: Very good. Okay, thanks a lot. Will one of you entertain the dog while I'm busy?
Brooke: You don't have to ask that, y'all. Solly's a ledge.
Ryan: It's worrying when Max brings his emotional support animal to a match. Pawshadowing, innit?
Me: West are limited and always play 4-4-2. The football will be the least interesting part of today.
Ryan: Everyone remember he said that.
***
My optimism was well-founded. While the men's team had taken one step forward, one step back, Chester's women had been on a tear in the league, cruising through even the sternest tests without conceding a single goal. They had dismantled Cheadle Town Stingers, their closest rivals in terms of CA, putting three past their keeper. As the old saying went, Cheadle were lucky to get nil.
The women hadn't done so well in the cups. The Cheadle result was the delicious filling in a sandwich made of cup exits. In the space of a couple of weeks, they were knocked out of the FA Cup by a bang average York City team, crashed out of the Welsh Cup on penalties against Rhyl, and exited the Cheshire Cup, losing three-one against Stalybridge. The last one was partly my fault.
I was explaining this to my guests as our tour of Brookburn Road came to its conclusion. "The thing is," I said, "We had three games in seven days and I told Jackie no player was allowed to appear in more than two. The risk of getting an ACL injury seems to go sky high when the women play too often so that's a hard limit I've imposed, no discussions. You met Ryan - he's been out for nine months with an ACL and it's horrible. I'd rather lose than take stupid risks. It's the good thing about being my own boss. I don't have to ask permission to do the right thing."
One of the dads was an accountant type. Very thorough - he had done a lot of preparation for the day. He was a very careful listener, too. "If there's too many fixtures it's because you entered too many cups. Is that not right?"
I nodded. "Yes, it is. It's a bit mad how all the cup matches fall at the same time. From October ninth to November thirteenth we had seven matches and only one was in the league. But we'll do it again. We have players who need game time and the goal is to improve the squad every year. Not just the first eleven but the squad. Next year we'll go deeper in every cup. Please, everyone, have a seat. Grab a sausage roll. Make yourselves at home."
"Why did you want to enter the Welsh Cup?" This was a raven-haired superparent called Gwen who had been one of the more standoffish with me but she had thawed somewhat when Meghan had appeared. The Butcher of Burnage was very much the Chorlton Charmer. Why was a player from Manchester City helping sell the Chester vision? The parents didn't ask and we didn't explain and that seemed to work great. When the players had finished their warmups, Meghan had gone to gatecrash Jackie's pre-match team talk. Femi, who turned fierce on match days and wanted everything to be very serious, always cracked a big smile when Meghan was around. Maybe it was because the young woman was one of the few players in the country substantially better than her.
Gwen was staring at me. I focused. "Why Wales? It started when Brooke was looking at grants," I said, pointing at the side of the pitch where Brooke and Ryan were walking Solly. For a second I worried about the documentary cameras and mics that had been set up to capture the experience of the five girls, but I remembered I would have final say on which footage was ever shown. I could speak freely. "Our stadium is in Wales and there are grants to develop Welsh football and I thought, well, why not? We're going to develop players from all over and some of them are bound to be Welsh. I don't need to actively look for Welsh players. Right? But that didn't last all that long. I started to get itchy thinking about it."
Stolen story; please report.
"Itchy?"
"You know, sort of... This feeling that I was missing the point somehow. Itchy. The whole Wales thing started as a technicality but the more I went around Flintshire and Denbighshire the more I saw opportunity. Lots of talent, not much in the way of great facilities, not loads of strong brands we can't compete against. Right now, the women don't have the capacity to put out two completely different starting elevens with no loss of quality, but we will, and I can imagine having a mostly Welsh lineup that competes in the Welsh Cup. It'll be strange at first but everyone will get used to it. And I'm thinking if we ever start an academy, we'd put it under the Welsh FA's umbrella. It might help protect us from being pillaged by Premier League teams as would happen if we set up in England. Yeah, anyway, I know it's not completely logical but if someone in Wales is going to give me money to build the football pitches I need, I'll give him half an under twenty side and the next Gareth Bale. No big deal. I don't mind where players are from, do I? If I could put together a Champions League winning team from ten miles around the stadium, I'd do that." I smiled. "But I might have to throw the net a fraction wider. That means Cheshire and Wales."
This speech hit home with some of the parents, but Gwen didn't seem ever likely to join the Cult of Max, and that was weirdly a problem because she had some kind of sway over the others. "The girls are smitten, that's for sure. Letting them ride the team bus was clever. And now they're in the pre-match."
"I just thought, what would I have liked at their age? I mean, you want to see things from the inside, don't you? Anyway, it's only fair to let them know what the vibe is. We do things different." I remembered the text chain from earlier. I spent a few minutes outlining my struggles to change the culture so we could welcome talent like Dani.
This was a hit, even with Gwen, but she was fixated on stuff that didn't really matter. "I don't quite understand why you want to sign our girls in the middle of January. Why not January first? Give them more time to integrate sooner?"
I sighed and tried to make eye contact with as many of them as poss while shit got real. "That's politics. Not everyone in Chester wants us to use our limited resources to develop Welsh football or even Welsh footballers. Right now my position is very solid and I can do whatever I want on the football side, pretty much, but while there's a risk of a takeover there's an equivalent risk to any players I bring in that the ethos and culture they sign up to isn't the one that's there at the end of January. I know your daughters are more or less happy at their current clubs and I'm not going to take them away from that just for some idiot to scrap the women's team two weeks later. No chance. I'd rather make myself look unprofessional now than let that happen to them. By mid-January the situation will be resolved, permanently. That's absolutely a guarantee." I had a micro-reverie about what was going to happen at the Fans Forum, but blinked it away. "Regime change is a risk at any football club, whether it's new owners, managers, or coaches. At least this time we get the luxury of knowing the date it might happen. Of knowing the date it won't happen. I'm just being extra cautious. Your girls are too talented to waste a year at a failed club. Let's take two or three weeks to make sure their next move is the right one."
Another mum spoke up. "Don't you worry someone else will snap them up in the meantime?"
"Not really. They won't get a better offer. I don't think a better offer exists." Shit! I'd done well being serious and sober but I'd got cocky. That particular mum didn't mind it but I felt a glare from Gwen.
The accountant dude said, "You've got the fun and the energy and the excitement but Wrexham have movie stars and that club is actually Welsh."
I smiled. He thought it was a difficult topic but it was actually a tap-in. "I looked at the Wrexham men's squad recently and they've got like thirty-five players in it and three are Welsh. They have as many Scots as Welsh, and like seven Irish lads. Maybe they're going hard at creating a future Welsh core in the youth system but I've not seen any evidence of that. Look at their actions, not at their flag. They're buying ready-made players to get them up the leagues as fast as poss and that's probably the right thing for what they're doing. Strike while the iron is hot and all that, but they're not a rival to me in youth recruitment. Not in the slightest. The average age of their new signings is like, thirty-six! If you're fifteen you'd have to be crazy to go there when I've actually used fourteen teenagers in the men's first team this season."
"Fourteen?" he said.
"Fourteen," I said. The players emerged from the pavilion and walked or ran onto the pitch, as per their superstitions. The girls I wanted to sign stayed behind and took up their seats next to me and their parents. They had wanted to stand or even go to our dugout but Angel had told them the cameras were all set up and it'd be a shame if they missed their chance to be in her documentary. After the bus ride and seeing the dressing room and Jackie's team talk, the five were absolutely buzzing. They wanted some of this. Job done. Well played, Max.
Jay Cope emerged from the pavilion and waved at me. I gave him a Maxy Two-Thumbs in return. "That's Jay Cope, the men's team manager here at West. Bit of a whizzkid. There were rumours flying around Manchester about this amazing young manager and they were all true. I haven't actually seen him manage yet, because our teams play at the same times, but West's men haven't lost yet and are ten points clear or something mad like that. He was a good investment."
Gwen wasn't interested in Jay and wanted to bring the conversation back to Wales. A common trait, I was learning, amongst a certain type of Welsh person. "You put your money where your mouth is when it comes to the young players, that much is obvious. Still, though, if Ryan Reynolds calls us tomorrow, I think he would have a fair shot at turning the girls' heads."
I shrugged. "Sure. But then that's not a footballing decision."
The accountant said, "I've researched you. You don't think much of Wrexham."
"That's not true," I said. "I love what's happened to the town, the people. I like the documentary. It's all great unless you have to watch the matches." I chuckled. "It's not my kind of football but even then, they're usually high-scoring games. You're as likely to watch a five-all as a one-nil. My point is only that the new owners aren't in competition with me. Their USP is fame. Look at their sponsors! They've got better sponsors than most Prem teams. I read that the owners have tripled the club's income already. That's awesome. A club's budget correlates pretty strongly with how well they do. Triple the budget, you pretty much triple the strength of the team.
"So that's no joke, what they've done already. But Crawley got promoted and Wrexham didn't and that's because the Crawley manager called and asked me how to beat Wrexham." I laughed. "My USP is football. I'm crazy about player development. Bout a month ago I was checking in on a training session and I spotted a player I didn't think was improving fast enough. The coach says yeah, he's been really up and down in matches, too. One day he's a world beater, the next he's garbage. I ask him to poke around, dig a little deeper, without stressing the kid. Few weeks go by, boom! We've got an answer.
"Turns out, the kid is colour blind. Some matches the kits are too similar and he struggles to tell the teams apart. Sometimes it's the referee! We looked at some footage and you can clearly see him get the ball, look for the ref, and if the ref is behind him he plays a forward pass. If he doesn't know where the ref is, he retreats, plays it safe, because if he passes to the ref everyone will know there's something wrong with him. Think about our training sessions. A coach is asking him to run from the yellow cone to the orange cone and pass to someone wearing a red bib on top of a blue shirt. It all looks the same to him! It's stupid when you think about it, but that's the point - no-one thinks about it.
"Okay so after a few minutes I sort of got the point already but I did some extra research and it's not just an issue for my players. Eight percent of men have some kind of colour blindness so it's like when we wear kits that clash with our opponents, eight percent of the male fans can't tell what's going on! It's not a big issue for the women but we have to assume eight percent of our male players are taking an extra half a second every time they get the ball while they double check who's who."
"You could get them tested," suggested Gwen.
"Yeah, when I've got lobster money. For now it's cheaper to just fix the problem. I called all the coaches in and told them what I'd learned and showed them some of the drills we were doing as seen by someone who can't tell red from green. Run from the grey to the grey and pass to the grey! We're not giving them a chance, right? It's amazing the colour blind kids even got this far when they're set up to fail. As a club we've got to change how we coach and that means buying new equipment and rethinking our drills and instructions. In an ideal session it's not the yellow and orange cones, it's the short ones and the tall ones. We've bought striped bibs. We call ahead of every match and get the oppo to send us a picture of the exact kit they'll be wearing and we put it through an online tool to tell us what a colour blind person sees and we pick our kits accordingly."
"It's a lot of work," said the dad.
"Mostly it's one batch of work up front and then a few reminders to make sure we don't slip back to the old ways. But good coaches love coaching and these changes have incontrovertibly made them better." The curse had told me so - quite a few of my staff had added a point to their Coaching Outfield Players score in the past month. They were getting through to eight percent of their male participants in a way they never had before. Seeing those numbers go up had been electric. I wanted to find all the barriers! Every problem was an opportunity! My heart pounded just thinking about it. "If we're the only club that can properly develop colour blind players that's a huge advantage for us. Seeing that my players aren't reaching their targets drives me bonkers.
"What's better for a club, Ryan Reynolds tripling a club's income or me spotting that a kid's progress has stalled? Almost certainly the first one. With money, a club can grow much faster. But if you're that kid, I think you'd rather be at my club. That's my pitch in a nutshell. If your daughter needs something, we'll move heaven and earth to give it to her. All right, Chester! Let's do this."
Peep! The ref whistled and the game started.
One of the parents said, "What about the boy?"
"Who?" I said.
"The colour blind boy. How is he now?"
I smiled. "He's mad at us. We subbed him off when he'd scored two goals. Wanted to get his hat trick." I shook my head. "They're worse than the first teamers, some of those brats."
"He's not grateful for the changes you made?"
"Probably he is but that was last week, wasn't it? What have you done for me lately?" I laughed again. "They're all about the next pass, the next drill, the next match. It's my job to look at the big picture." As I said that, I realised I didn't fully believe it. "I do try to get my players to think in bigger time units. One week is two matches. That's already better. I'm leaving you out on Tuesday so you can play on Saturday. They don't like it but they understand it. We're going to be busy in January so I'm letting you rest in December. That works great on players with families. And I try to put everything into the context of the season. We lost to Forest Green and it was just one of the shittest days ever. Like, nothing good came from it. But I tell myself the goal of the season isn't to beat Forest Green, it's to get promoted. We're just about on track. From the outside, it looks like we're chugging a load of copium but you've got to believe in what you're doing so you can ride these disappointments. I can tell you we're number one in the league for happiness. Grimsby are running away with the league but they're absolutely miserable."
Meghan came back from the away team dugout where she had left Kisi. "When are you going to hire some women for these women's teams?"
I missed the point of what she was saying entirely. "I'm trying to sign five right now. Sit down and shut your gob for a bit."
"Budge up."
"No way. I'm a manspreader." We jiggled around on the seats until we got comfortable. Chester's new stadium would have nice, big seats to accommodate modern bums. "Do you miss Youngster?"
"Why? He's only been gone ten minutes." My client and walking lottery ticket had spent the week down in London training with the members of Ghana's under twenty squad who were based in Europe. Without him, we had smashed AFC Fylde four-nil, but he might have been useful against Forest Green Rovers.
We had won seven, drawn five, lost seven. I was heartily sick of those games where I had to rely on Omari, Cole, or Sharky to do things they couldn't consistently do. The dropoff from my first eleven to my reserves was still shocking.
Still, I told myself it was good news that one of my starters had been recognised by his country and had missed two matches to attend a glorified passing drill. It would lead to all sorts of future opportunities. Pass the copium bong, please!
"Any word?"
Meghan tapped on her phone's screen without even realising she'd done it. No new messages. "He enjoyed it. They pray before every training session."
"This guy's priorities. Wow, wait a minute, what's this?" I shot to my feet, went to the rail around the pitch, and gesticulated. "Hey, hey! What's this?"
"What? What?" said Gwen, panicked by my sudden eruption.
"My dude is managing the women! Jay Cope! He's the men's manager. He can't do this. What's he playing at?"
"So?" said Meghan. "You managed the men's and women's teams for ages. Chester are still miles better and Jackie is mint. Sit down, Max. God, you're such a drama queen when the cameras are on you."
Right, the cameras. The parents. The high-PA quintet. I sat down, leaning forward, cursing the position of the 'VIP section'. We were behind one of the goals and we had a pretty mediocre view. Not only that, but I had guests and was supposed to entertain them so I could run off with their daughters. One of the volunteers from West went past. "Jane! Jane. Why is Copey in charge?"
"Er... Helen's away for the weekend and he was keen to fill in."
"Keen, was he? Thanks." I felt in my bones that this was going to go very badly wrong.
"What's wrong?" said Mari, Gwen's daughter.
"Erm..." I said, rubbing my head. "The men lost to FGR last time out. Annoying, but we can still get to the playoffs because there are forty-six games and crazy results happen all the time. The women only have twenty-two games so each one gets way more important. The problem with having one promotion spot is you can't afford any slip-ups. Like, Chester last season scraped through by the skin of our teeth. If we lose a single league match, that could be that. The season could be over. Even a draw today would be awful. Cheadle Stingers had a bad day against us at our place, but they'll be hyped for the return match. If we draw today and lose to Cheadle, that's it." I clicked my fingers.
I didn't add that if we failed to progress up the leagues, we would lose our best players. Charlotte's brilliance had not gone unnoticed, and rivals were finally starting to realise that Dani was worth a little extra effort.
Meghan tutted. "This guy Cope. He doesn't work with the players, he doesn't know them, he can't just waltz in and get them humming. You're such a drama queen, seriously." She huffed dramatically, and the mood lightened everywhere except in my head.
The curse told me that Jay had set West up in a 3-5-2, matching Jackie's preferred formation. That was strange, because we had used a back four in most of our matches. Had Jay chosen his formation expecting us to start with 4-4-2? Or did he somehow know our plans? I got another little dose of cold sweat. What Meghan didn't know was that while Jackie knew what to do - he had Tactics 15 - he was often slow in responding to events. Jay Cope had Tactics 19 and from what I'd heard from my loanees, he tweaked and changed his systems almost as fast as I did.
Jay Cope with a CA 30 team versus Jackie with CA 40. It shouldn't really have been much of a contest. And it wasn't. For four minutes.
Smith-Smithe controls superbly. She drops a shoulder and embarks upon a dribble.
She slaloms past one. Past two!
Smith-Smithe combines with Angel. The winger is at the byline.
Left-footed cross...
Bea Pea's header...
Saved!
A wonderful start from the league leaders.
I relaxed.
But then...
Then West's tactics screens started to dance. The Jay Cope Shuffle. The Hokey Copey - put your left mid in and your right mid out.
First to change were the two midfielders on the right. They got thick lines around them and I gawped as I went into the WibWob screens to work out what Jay had done. Nothing too dramatic - he had shifted them to get tighter to Dani. She would be put under pressure more quickly when she got the ball. Perhaps she wouldn't get the ball at all.
A minute later, a thick circle appeared on the left midfielder. WibWob told me she had been pushed further forward. After making a defensive change in one part of the pitch, try to squeeze more attacking threat elsewhere. That particular move was like looking in a mirror. But there was no need for a mirror - I'd spent time with Jay talking about how I managed games. It seemed like he'd been paying attention!
I shifted uneasily. In signing a super manager for West, had I torpedoed Jackie's season? I shook the thought loose - Meghan was right. Jay had barely spent any time with these ladies.
But... but but but.
When I was pitching the idea of him managing West, Jay and I had gone to see West's women play. Jay had very good scouting numbers anyway, but I had talked about the strengths and weaknesses of every player. Now he was using that information to fucking optimise them! Match ratings were going up all over Chorlton. Oh, boy.
More thick white lines appeared around the three centre backs. Jay was encouraging them to spread wide when West had the ball. Same as I'd been doing! It was a great plan against Bea Pea because she would try to press regardless of the distances and she would be knackered long before the end of the ninety minutes.
The changes kept coming. The third central midfielder moved to DM. It was clearly intended to combat Charlotte, who was threatening to dictate the entire match, but there was something off about it. Having three centre backs and a DM put two players within feet of each other. The middle centre back was sort of trapped like a badly-placed pawn in chess. There was nothing really for her to do except win headers. She had no purpose in an attacking sense.
I felt great relief. "Okay," I said, relaxing back into my chair.
"What?" said Meghan.
I was aware of Gwen and the cameras. "He's good but he's not, like, magic or anything."
"Who?" said Meghan, who was strangely unaware of the true drama and was talking to the parents about how Kisi was her best mate and she had chosen Chester over Man City because it was mint and the vibes were lit.
"Oh, shit," I said, getting to my feet and walking around with my hands on my head. Jay had shifted the DM back into the midfield five... and moved the third centre back into the DM slot. He was using my 2-6-2! In a real match! "This guy's unreal."
"What's happening?" said one of the girls. If everything went according to my plan I wanted to call them the Ffamous Five, the double F hinting at their nationality.
"He's going man-to-man with Angel and Bea Pea, which is dangerous but brave. That's trusting your players to win duels so you can get an advantage somewhere else. It's worth the risk overall but most managers don't have the eggs to do it. He's got a DM in, and now they can properly scrap in the centre of the park. Come on, Jackie, spot it. Spot it and respond."
"Why don't you go and tell him?" said Gwen, a question that carried serious manager vibes.
I tried to smile at her while staring in horror at the pitch. I might have got it the wrong way round. "I'm er... I'm a perfectionist and a control freak and I have to learn to let people get on with their jobs. I try to stay away from most of our games because I can't hack it. Seeing an inefficiency is like a sort of actual pain in my gut. The solution is right there! And look, see, no-one even realises there's a problem. Dani's trying to up her nutmeg count. We need to get the ball and pass West out of the game. We're playing like we're four-nil up. There's no urgency and it's making me crazy. This is quite bad. This could get bad." I found myself punching my palm as a way to release some stress energy. "But then there's letting people find their own solutions. Jackie and the players, too. It's not like I'm always right. Nothing worked against Forest Green. Could be good to stick to the plan and learn to cope with this new challenge."
"How to cope with Cope," said Meghan. She wasn't worried.
I looked for the players with the highest standards - Charlotte and Bonnie - and they looked chill. "Oh, shit," I said.
***
West were in the ascendancy, now, and were knocking the ball around nicely, stretching the pitch and making us tired. Jackie was in full rabbit-in-a-headlight mode. I would have instructed Bea Pea to stop pressing because her Condition was dwindling at an alarming rate. Pippa was blowing, too. Most teams didn't try to compete with us in midfield so this level of effort was unusual for her.
I was getting more and more agitated and for some reason, Gwen decided to talk me down.
"Do you have roles in mind for these girls?"
"The Ffamous Five? Yeah. Two defenders, two midfielders, a forward. That's mint, that. That's the basis of a team. They'll default to the sixteens at first but we'll get them involved with the first team as much as poss."
"What!" cried the nearest one. "Really?"
Her smile burned off some of my stress. "Yeah. Jackie picks the teams but I can tell him to take any old rando at training." I twinkled at her but remembered her parents were right there. "If you join in Jan it's whatever sixteens or eighteens matches we've got going on, first team training, and first team minutes near the end of the season. Next season starts slow, you get cup minutes, you train hard, we see where you are. This time next year you could be as good as Charlotte there. Course, she'll have bombed on but that's good, too. You need people around you can learn from. One of the worst things for a kid is to go to a club where they're the best player. The boys at Chester are protected from that because they've got WibRob, and he's safe because he's got me. Shit! Come on, Dani! Track back! God, she gets complacent. Doesn't she realise we're under the cosh?"
"No because you're not," said Meghan. "It's fine. It's a midfield slugfest. Pretty balanced but you've got better players. Whatever's in your head is in your head."
I scratched my scalp with every fingernail. "Mate. In every other match, even against Stingers, we had five shots to zero by this stage. Today we haven't got into West's penalty area. How has no-one noticed that? Their goalie could have a picnic. If this looks balanced to you, get your inner ear checked."
Meghan rolled her eyes but turned to look at the pitch more intently.
Gwen said, "Do you own this club? This West?"
"I'm not allowed," I said. "So no."
"But you chose five new players and picked the manager and that woman came to tell you about the broken toilets."
"I've got loads of skills," I said, from a distance. A new thought had occurred to me. Jay had relentlessly tweaked and optimised... and stopped. Why? It seemed ominous. "I wanted a place I could send talented players to train them up." I squinted, but couldn't see Jay Cope's face. How much was he enjoying this? A lot, probably. "I grew up just over there." I pointed. "This is my home. I wanted to give something back but the FA won't allow it. So I gave almost all the shares away." I snapped back into the present. "Man United's owners took a billion pounds out of the club. Loads of owners buy clubs to do money laundering. So many sell the training ground and the stadium and do a runner. It's like anyone can own a football club except someone who'll look after it."
"There's a conflict of interest. Two teams you have an interest in are playing each other right now. There's a reason you're not allowed."
"I know. But this match is a one-off. The clubs will never be in the same division again and if I went to eleven Mancunian women and said, hey ladies I need you to lose today I'd lose a few teeth. Of course the competition needs to have integrity but I want to do something on a fifty-year time horizon. Football is totally short-term. Buy this player, sack that manager. Imagine fifty years of doing the right thing. I could spend one week a year scouting South Manchester and the rest of the time going into schools teaching boys about haircuts and that would still be the most successful club of its size in the world."
"How do you do it?"
"Just magic, isn't it? Just a gift. I see which players are good. But honestly sometimes it really, really does feel like a curse. I need to own a club so I can really, really do what's right for the players and staff. There's this lad, Vivek. Sixteen and never played organised football but I thought he was talented. If I said to someone, give that kid a chance they would say no, he's too old and he's clearly shit. But I was the boss so I said do it. And two years later he's playing for Jay Cope in his all-conquering West Didsbury side. By the time he's twenty-one, Vivek will be a really, really good National League player. But who's going to let me take a five-year view on a player? Chester will, but I could get sacked at any time in those five years. So for proper, genuine continuity I need to have complete control and that means ownership." I sighed.
"You know what the answer is, don't you?" Gwen was giving me a very intense look, now. She was super interesting to look at. I wanted to see a photo of her aged twenty because I suspected she was as attractive now as she'd ever been and she was keeping fit while working and raising a family and probably volunteering in a local food bank or something.
"Own West without owning it."
She shook her head. "You need to buy a team in a different country."
I smiled. "I know exactly what you mean. The Isles of Scilly. The league is two teams. You're guaranteed a runners-up medal at least! But it's associated with the English FA."
"Buy a Welsh team."
Time stood still. Water that had collected in a blocked gutter dripped, dripped, and hovered. Gwen's hair, which had been gently fluttering in the breeze, fixed into place. My own heart went pa but not dam.
"Oi! Cut that out you twat!"
I turned to see Bea Pea beefing with a West defender. There was some pushing and shoving. Are we allowed to call it handbags when women do it?
"Buy a Welsh team," I mumbled. "There would be no conflict of interest. The Welsh FA don't have beef with me. I've not had much contact with them but they seem to be very interested in player development. Like, they're actually interested in football and not just trying to get invited onto superyachts and all that shit. Huh."
"What are you thinking?"
"It's easy enough to go into a small club and upgrade the players and manager and get a quick promotion or two. The Welsh want players for the national team, though. The Welsh league isn't good enough to produce world class players. We could get so far but then have to sell the players so they could get to the next level."
"The FAW are keen to improve the league. Having a rival to The New Saints would help."
"The New Saints. They're that team that wins the league every year."
"Almost every year, yes. And they get into Europe every year and make a million quid every year." She did something surprising, then - she got cheeky. "If you're as good as you think, that money could be yours. Every year for fifty years. Or are you full of shit?"
I laughed. "Are you trying to dare me into buying a Welsh club? It's working, to be fair." I thought about what would happen if I did go down that route. "Nah. It'll just get political. Someone will decide they don't like me and they'll block me from doing things and make my life hard. It's just not worth the hassle."
"But it's worth the hassle of bringing five girls and their families across to Manchester for a match and a trip to the Trafford Centre?"
"Absolutely. Your daughter is really talented. Seeing her progress is so motivational it's worth the effort of dealing with administrators."
"Are they so terrible?"
"Yeah."
"Things would be better with you in charge, I suppose."
"Things would get so much better so fast your head would explode."
Gwen laughed. For some reason she had completely warmed to me. "Okay. I'm sold."
"Did I just get the job? Okay! My first action as president of FIFA is to erect a hundred-foot statue of myself in all member nations."
She gently slapped me on the upper arm. "Stop being silly. If you're still in charge after the coup, I'll bring my daughter to Chester."
"Oh!" My smile came easily, even as Charlotte played a pass that went no-where near Bea Pea. "Top! That's great." I went internal.
"What are you doing?"
"Huh? Oh. Sorry, I was planning the training schedules."
Gwen didn't blink. "For the end of January?"
"For the rest of the season. And next. Yeah, rude, sorry. I can't help it sometimes."
Gwen said she forgave me, then went into the pavilion to get some refreshments from the trestle table. One of the other parents went in, too. She came back out a minute later, whispered to her daughter, and there was an excited squeal. Another one was in! Gwen had taken over the Meghan role!
The first half drew to a close with the scores stuck at nil-nil. West's players were cock-a-hoop going back to the dressing room, though. They knew what they had done. Jackie and Jay came to the pavilion and waited for the girls to freshen up before going into the dressing room to give the half-time talks. Jackie looked like he'd been jabbed in the face. Jay was chill. So chill he popped inside to get a sausage roll and ate it with a very contented expression.
I needed to move, so I took Solly from MD - where had Brooke and Ryan disappeared to? - and did laps of the pitch. One of the few fans in attendance asked if she could fall into step with me and I spent five minutes reassuring her that I wasn't going to let anything bad happen to her club and the new ownership structure was to get the FA off my case and there was nothing sinister behind it.
She listened patiently. "I liked what you said after the Swindon match," she said. "The first game I ever went to was an FA Cup replay. They shouldn't take things away from us. It doesn't belong to them."
I nodded, but couldn't say anything. Did her final words contain a double meaning?
I took Solly back to the pavilion with me - he had walked enough. I thought he would lie by my feet like a good boy, but he jumped onto the accountant's lap and made it clear he intended to stay there.
"Haha," said the guy. "He needs a good sleep. Just hope the match isn't too exciting!"
***
The match wasn't exciting. It was a slow, grinding, nerve-shredder as our season drifted towards a huge iceberg that only I could see.
Jackie had made a few tweaks at half time, and after a few minutes Jay counter-tweaked. Jackie responded, and Jay responded again. To me, it was absolutely fascinating and I kept pointing out Jay's ideas but nobody gave a shit.
What most intrigued me about Jay was not just his minute-by-minute adjustments but the feeling I had that he was playing the match as a whole. He was building towards something.
It clicked.
"Oh," I groaned.
"What?" said Gwen. She was eating a chocolate-coated ice lolly that was not available anywhere inside the stadium.
"We need to win. That's his plan. He will use our aggression against us. If it's still nil-nil with twenty minutes to go, we'll get more and more attacking."
"Ugh," said Meghan. "Counters."
"Right. He'll dick us on counters."
"Language," complained Gwen.
"Sorry. He'll dick us on counter-attacks. God, I should have seen it coming. I do this."
"I don't quite understand. You think he is waiting until the end to try to win?"
"Totally. We are genuinely a good team. Much better than his. But we have this weakness of getting complacent. If he scored in the first minute, we'd have woken up and we'd be winning five-one, now. No, his best bet is to score after we start pushing. We're attacking anyway, but we'll do so with less conviction. It's clever. Ah! And that's why he didn't change the strikers. He didn't want to optimise them but he didn't want us to realise his plan so he left them as default. Shit, he's good."
I strode along the width of the pitch trying to tell myself it would be all right. Trying to tell myself that Dani would get back in the game or Femi would score from a corner.
But I quickly switched into crisis management mode. If we drew this, we would need to beat Cheadle away. It was that simple. Beat Cheadle twice and it didn't matter. As long as we beat West at home... But if Jay wanted to get my attention by managing in that game, too...
I froze as a traitorous thought popped into my skull.
Jay was a better football manager than Jackie.
That's what it all boiled down to.
Jackie was a better coach, they were similar in some other respects, but Jay was a better in-game manager. He had four more points of Tactics and he was bolder, braver, and quicker. He was fucking formidable.
It looks like Chester have adopted a more attacking approach.
Here it was! With twenty minutes to go - terribly conventional - Jackie was making his changes. Pippa off, Kisi on. A shattered Bea Pea off, a fresh Julie McKay on.
Jay Cope didn't wait half a second to make his changes - he subbed off his two strikers and put on two fast wingers. They took positions ahead of the left mid and right mid, who he moved back one zone. He moved his central midfielder forward into a CAM slot, but on the tactics screen this position came with an arrow. After some investigation I took it to mean that the With Ball position was different enough from the Without Ball position to necessitate some kind of marking on the Overview screen. After a couple of minutes, Jay had tweaked the formation even further, resulting in more arrows: one bringing the DM back into the third centre back slot and ones going from the wingers towards goal.
West's formation was crazy, now. This was the wild West and Jay Cope was the sheriff.
image [https://ted-steel.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/05/b9c6.png]
For once I felt nothing but sympathy for Jackie - he saw that he was walking into a trap but what could he do? A point was pretty useless from this match. He had to go for the win. He had to play into Jay's hands.
Good play from Chester. Charlotte to Yalley.
Yalley has space. She moves forward. Now she's surrounded.
Loose pass.
The ball is hit over the top. Space for West's winger.
She lures Femi towards her... and chips the ball to the far side.
The left winger has a chance... but plays it just wide!
"Oh my God," I said, sweating now that our hopes and dreams seemed to be on the line. That had been far too close.
Femi thumps a long pass forward. Quite aimless. Bonnie yells at her.
The ball's out for a throw-in. West are in no hurry to take it.
Finally, play is restarted. Good work by Luxury Bell to win the ball. She plays it to Femi.
A much better pass, this time. Into the midfield.
Smith-Smithe accelerates past her marker. Will she go solo?
No, she cuts back and brings Yalley into the move.
Yalley clips the ball to the back post.
Angel leaps and wins the header...
Great contact...
It clips the crossbar and bounces down.
Did it cross the line? Referee says no!
Chester are furious. They're chasing the referee.
But the game is going on!
West with the long diagonal again. Danger here!
It's a repeat of the previous move. The left winger has a chance to score.
She rounds the goalkeeper...
Rolls it towards the goal line... She wheels away to celebrate.
But Femi slides in and blocks it! She came out of nowhere!
This is breathless stuff.
The parents had started out neutral but they were taking sides now. Some wanted Chester to win because they had met some of the characters, but some wanted West to snatch it because they'd played with so much heart.
More chances came and went, raising the tension, heightening the drama, but then in the 83rd minute, Jackie finally did something about this constant menace coming from the wings. He switched to 4-4-2. Jay immediately switched to his favourite formation, 4-3-3, and attacked Chester's strongest point - the centre.
It took Jackie a minute to realise what had changed, and in that minute, West scored. Bonnie and Femi found themselves against three forwards, and for once the left winger was clinical.
One-nil to West!
Chester's reaction was commendable, but in my opinion, far too late. Bonnie and Femi rallied the troops. Jackie switched back to the default 3-5-2.
Chester attacked with quiet fury, dribbling to get space, playing one-twos, trying to get into slapping position. Angel won a high cross but Julie couldn't fashion a shot on goal. Dani got to the byline and thrashed the ball across goal, but every Chester player had tried to lose their marker by making the same move away from goal. Charlotte hit a curling shot that looked destined for the top corner until the goalie got a fingertip to it.
Thus were the margins.
Jay fidgeted with his players, but I knew full well his part was over and it was in the hands of his players, now. They were motivated as anything and fought for everything. They nearly got a second goal from a counter, they nearly conceded from a free kick, but the ref put them out of their misery with the final whistle. They celebrated noisily.
One-nil to the team I used to own. For Chester, four defeats in five games. Our season was collapsing.
"You saw that coming after ten minutes," said Gwen, trying once again to cheer me up.
"Yeah."
She pointed. "Those Chester girls are fantastic. You don't have to be an expert to see how well coached they are. West were lucky."
"It's a cliche but sometimes you make your own luck. I'm disappointed with their mentality. They can't play shit for seventy minutes and hope to achieve things."
"They're young. Let them learn."
I made an inadvertent tutting noise. "Yeah, maybe. I'm just... It's a setback. Another one."
"After a negative, you need a positive."
"Some copium? We won the expected goals battle. We've got the best Malaysian pot noodle partner. That kind of thing?"
She laughed. "I think..." She scratched the space by the side of her eye. "I think Chester Women is a new team and they're favourites to win the league, even after today. Two promotions in two seasons. I think you're cruising through the FA Youth Cup. I think West Didsbury's Men are going to finish the season undefeated. I think the feedback from lots of people inside the game is that Max Best is the next big thing."
I scoffed. "Jay Cope, you mean."
She smiled. "You found him, didn't you?" She looked thoughtful again. "I spoke to one insider who's been following your career. She said 'everything he touches turns to gold'. I think I'd like to see you own a team in North Wales and turn it into a talent factory. You'd be good for Welsh football and you wouldn't have strife with the FAW. In fact, they would support you."
"How do you know?"
She shook her head, smiling broadly. She reached into her purse and pulled out a business card.
It was branded with the Football Association of Wales logo and font and in the centre it said: Gwendolyn Hughes - Chief Engagement Officer.
I flipped the card upside down in case it said "LOL" on the back. It didn't.
"Are you saying... The FA of Wales... will work with me? Not against me?"
"That's what I'm saying, yes. Our goal is to increase participation and strengthen the national team. You can help us with both." She stared at some aspect of the scene - the floodlights, the grass, the players walking arm in arm in triumph or defeat - and grew wistful. "I want my daughter to play at a club like yours, but in Wales. Near our home."
I panicked slightly. "Oh, there's a misunderstanding. It'll take me years to get any new club up to speed. Your daughter should still come to Chester."
A thin smile. "I know. But I would like it. We all would. And that's my job. I have to make it happen so someone else's daughter is as excited to join her local team as Mari is to leave." She stuck her tongue in the side of her cheek, which I took to mean she was controlling her emotions. Businesslike once more, she said, "Why don't you come to our HQ one day and we'll talk about ways we can help each other?"
"I'd love to," I said, delighted, stupidly thinking that making friends with an entire Football Association was the most significant thing to come out of the match. "God, this is helping so much. I feel better just knowing someone in charge isn't antagonistic. How do you say copium in Welsh?"
"Copiwm," she said.
"Amazing. Wait. Doesn't it bother you that I'm beefing with the English FA?"
She twinkled. "That's the icing on the cake. It's only a shame you can't blast them again."
"Can't...? What do you mean?" I said. "Our Second Round match will be live on TV." The hope in her eyes was delicious; I couldn't believe my luck. The Welsh FA wanted to partner up and they liked it when I attacked their English equivalent. The smile I gave her cured a lot of my ills. "If you thought that interview was explosive, just wait. Bring your FAW mates down and we'll have a big old party. I've got something special planned. Something special and unique. There will be a replay in this year's FA Cup. I swear it."